Impulse
by slack-jawed cheese hugger
Summary: And it was impulse that started this, and impulse that will end it. //: challenge-fic from coffee shoppe. AtsukixShinji, semi-AU; oneshot. warning for yaoi and implied... stuff.


Challenge from: coffee shoppe  
Fandom: Lux-Pain  
Characters: Shinji and Atsuki  
Prompt: Impulse  
Setting: semi Canon-verse  
Rating: T-M  
Other Notes: 'semi canon' in that, while it happens in the same universe as the game and whatnot, Atsuki came back after several years to Kisaragi and, well, got together with Shinji. I must admit, I've wanted to write something like this for a long time. Hee hee.  
Other Other Notes: The "he"s in this story go back and forth, but as a point of reference: 'And [Shinji] loves it when [Atsuki] calls him 'pet'-' (etc.) Yeah. Good luck.

* * *

And he loves it when he calls him 'pet'- in that soft voice he only uses after he's been so upset that his voice shakes and his fingernails dig into the delicate skin of his palms, leaving little pink crescent marks- and brings his fingers up to brush along his cheekbone, so gently, so gently-- "I love you too, pet," he sighs, looking suddenly so much older than he really is. "I love you too."

"What's wrong?" he asks sweetly, not meaning any harm, not meaning to cause the sharp stab of guilt in the pit of the other's stomach for having caused him worry, as he leans into the stroking hand, eyes drifting shut, crawling closer to him, up on the bed, straddling his lap and curling his arms around his back behind the pillow.

He looks away, eyes half-closed, smoothing a thumb over the other's eyelid. "Nothing, really," he lies, in a soft but heavy voice that might make the smaller man in his lap cross with him if he had the presence of mind to, for being depressing and why isn't he telling the truth, he can handle it if anyone can. "I'm just tired," he lies, because he really is tired, but that's not quite it, and he promises himself he'll tell the truth when he figures it out for himself.

He lays his head on his lover's chest to hear his heart beat, to feel the warmth he's always known was there, even when he left and they didn't see him for years on end, and he believes him, innocent in his naïveté, not wanting to be stupid or to be accused of such. Because really, does anyone?

Because when he has to go, he misses him sideways, and when he comes back they'll dance the dance of ages, skin on sweat-slicked skin, pressing into each other like they want to melt together; when they're done they'll lie there- together, of course- small arms around his waist, big hands in violet hair, bringing him close like they're never going to move again, like they're going to be here, like this, always and forever. In all honesty, neither one wants to untangle themselves from the other, but these things happen, anyways, no matter what. What is two will part, sweetly, so they might come back together again to become one, smooth and warm and lovely- like a cup of chai with a touch of cardamom on a cold morning; like a seminar, first thing in the afternoon after lunch, on religion and psychoanalysis and particle physics, and suddenly you find yourself nodding a lot, and it occurs to you that what the professor's saying sounds like something your great-aunt would've said, beautiful in its long-winded eloquence.

And it was impulse that started this, and impulse that will end it, years later, when he has to leave, and they've tried and tried and tried but he just can't hold on any longer and he's been staying with Ryo, sleeping on the couch in his living room- like a bad dog banished to the doghouse- too many times because 'it's too hard to explain; we'll figure it out'. Really, who would have seen it coming- the man who walks around with the world on his shoulders, and the man who wants to see that world with his own two eyes and will do anything, _anything_ to get a taste of what he's remembering when he stares off blankly into space with that little absent-minded smile on his face? Who would have thought that they would crash, and fall, and then fall again several long and full and rich and beautiful years later when they can't remember what it was they said the first time they met each other and it doesn't make any difference anyway because whatever they used to have- and maybe it's still there, just… hiding, or something- is falling apart at the seams? And all the latent words that have been filling up the space between them come crashing down on them out of the rafters, and suddenly they have less to say and more to feel than two teenagers out on their very first date, like they were once, hands entwined almost awkwardly (what a strange word that is, awkward- like a limping duck on a pig farm) under the table, and they smiled.

Just smiled.


End file.
